


Never See Anything but Death

by LadyShadowWalker



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:38:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowWalker/pseuds/LadyShadowWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter from Malcolm's perspective. It crosses over with Wash’s story: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5464574">I’m Not Fine</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never See Anything but Death

Malcolm wasn’t fitting in at Camp. He also wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t fit in with his own people and he had been raised  among them. He was trying; he really was. He needed to make this work because he didn’t have any other option. Ophelia was here and she wasn’t leaving her brother, not after Claire had left William to carry the public burden of what happened at the Mountain.

It was them who weren’t able to overcome their hatred and fear. He didn’t blame them, not entirely. They might have initially invaded his people's lands but they had shown they were willing to work together. With the alliance, Malcolm had finally let his guard down in the hopes of lasting peace but then Lexa had betrayed them and the hatred started to mount.

To be fair, not everyone despised him. There were a few people who treated him as a fellow human. There was Ophelia, of course, but at this point, she was more one of his people than he’d ever been. William respected him and tried to incorporate him into activities and had even set him up to train the guard on hand-to-hand combat. Monroe and Sergeant Miller smiled at him whenever they passed by and that was more pleasant than the many who moved aside in fright or disgust. He and Hawk had even come to a mutual wariness of each other that was satisfactory for the both of them. And then there was Wash.

He looked across the table at the boy who had taken up residence as his unofficial dinner guest these last couple of weeks. They still hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other but Malcolm enjoyed his company. Wash brought with him a comforting presence that reminded Malcolm of Nicky.

His eyes wandered back to Ophelia. She was discussing the next supply run with Murray and Betty. She rarely got a chance to sit down and eat, her presence always required for one thing or another. He knew she hated it, that these people who condemned her for being born now found her valuable. But she put up with it for the love of her brother, just as he put up with it for the love of her.

She had asked him to get involved in the Mountain planning but he couldn’t. He couldn’t revisit that Mountain of Death. The Ten Clans agreed. The Mountain belonged to the _Skaikru_ ; no one wanted it or its horrific reminders. With that compromise, there had been an uneasy peace established that Malcolm was doubtful would last for much longer. They had just been gifted with the Mountain’s entire arsenal, including more missiles like the one that had destroyed _Tondisi_.

“Do you have chocolate?” Wash asked, breaking the quiet.

Malcolm smiled as he turned his head back toward Wash. “What’s in it for me?” He did have chocolate. Well, Ophelia had chocolate that she smuggled out of the Mountain and had begrudgingly shared with him.

Wash looked bewildered at the question and Malcolm felt a momentary uneasiness that he might have unknowingly made a social mistake asking for something in return. Ophelia arrived, interrupting his chance to apologize.

* * *

He lay awake, unable to fall back asleep after another Redmare, the nightmares he had when the Red cravings got extra bad. Every time he closed his eyes, he never saw anything but death. Her death was always the worst for him.

Ophelia continued sleeping next to him, her own nightmares quiet for once. Sometimes, she would get trapped in a never-ending dream, whimpering and crying silently in her sleep; he would have to rouse William to help him get her out of them. Night terrors, is what Betty called them, and most everyone had them.

She didn't giggle anymore. The last time she had giggled had been before the Mountain. She hardly ever cried. She admitted to him it no longer helped. She was barely eating enough. Every time someone would disrupt them at mealtime, he would check her plate to make sure she ate enough. He brought her snacks when she didn’t.

Like the chocolate he would bring tomorrow for Wash.

He sat up and turned on a light. Ophelia was such a sound sleeper that she didn’t even stir. He grabbed his journal and set to work. Sometimes drawing helped him relax. The scratching of the pencil across the paper was a lullaby to his nerves and the focus on the detail was a balm to his hyperactive thoughts. An image took shape before him, exorcising the Red dreams that still plagued him.

“Draw him dead.” Ophelia’s voice startled him out of his reverie. She was awake, watching his hand move across the paper. “Ryan is dead, so you should draw him as he is: a rotted piece of meat.”

Ophelia sat up and rested her cheek on his shoulder as he started adding lines and smudges to the image, distorting it and dissolving it into decayed flesh. He macabrely added a gushing wrist with the hand cut off, a secret glee erupting from his fingertips onto the page.

“I should have been the one to go up on that ridge,” he blurted out, confessing to her something only he and Claire knew. “When Lexa accepted Thompson’s deal. That should have been me up there, but she told me to stay and to get the door open.”

“Malcolm….”

“I wouldn’t have agreed. I would have taken him prisoner and everything would have gone as planned.”

“Malcolm,” she said, this time more firmly. “You’re being as logical as Flint when he says he could have stopped it by killing Ryan.”

“But –.”

She put her finger to his lips, keeping him from talking. “Learn to forgive yourself.” It was something she knew too well, still blaming herself for her mother’s death.

He kissed her fingertip. “I’ll try.”

* * *

Malcolm was eating dinner alone again. Ophelia had been there for—he glanced over at her plate—a quarter of a meal before being drawn into some more community planning. Ophelia was forever optimistic that the supplies and resources the Mountain offered would be used to benefit everyone equally. He didn’t want to be the one who shattered her naivety so he kept his more cynical thoughts to himself...and dealt in smuggled chocolate instead.

“Hey,” Wash said as he approached the table and sat down across from him.

“Hi,” Malcolm replied as he slid his palm across the table toward Wash, the chocolate he asked for hidden away underneath. “Don’t let Ophelia see.” Malcolm nodded behind Wash where Ophelia stood in conversation with Birch.

Wash gave a tiny smirk as he pocketed the chocolate. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” Malcolm shook his head. “Thanks for eating dinner with me.”

Ophelia finished her discussion with Birch and walked over, pressing a kiss to Malcolm’s cheek. He stood up, hesitant to leave and miss out on the opportunity to talk to Wash a bit longer. “Maybe I’ll see you at breakfast?”

Wash nodded.

Ophelia took Malcolm’s hand and led him away. He found himself smiling. Maybe he was finally starting to fit in.


End file.
